Thursday, November 15, 2007

Let's we forget

This past Rememberance Day weekend was supposed to be a golden age of glorious photo-ops -- me looking sage and Prime Ministerial with venerable veterans and saluting soldiers. And since I'm solemnly doing my official duty no media or opposition grinches would dare sneer that I'm being partisan or political or puffed-up.

But instead of a beautiful dream team parade to downtown Majorityville it was a non-stop nightmare hellish death spiral I can't forget. I didn't even get to enjoy pmo night at TGIFs because I had to do the freaking press conference at 4:30 announcing a probe into the dirty laundry of the Advisor formerly known as PM.

Fortunately I only gave the stupid hacks 15 minutes notice so most of the news knuckledraggers were already completely hammered or counting the minutes until they could get home to their porn videos. They were totally dumbstruck and out maneuvered by our gambit. Sandra said we could comtrol the news agenda and keep the Sunday photo-ops on track with a pre-emptive strike -- like invading Iraq. Unfortunately the analogy was a little too apt and after the moment of shock and awe things continued to unravel.

I blame the Irish dickhead -- I mean what kind of shit-for-brains arrogant prick takes 300 Gs of cash in brown paper bags from a failed arms dealer and world class liar like Kraut Shyster? That may sound like a lot of spinach lasagna but why put your head in a noose and stand on a tippy chair for such chump change? The right honorable wanker could have easily pulled 10 times that from any number of corporate gigs that only required him to warm a chair and do a convincing job of drinking coffee without spilling any.

And when some fleabitten reporter or a Ritalin-addled cop come sniffing around, he pulls out the legal equivalent of a thermonuclear device in order to flatten a couple of buzzing flies that everyone knows feed on shit anyway. His over-the-top shrill denials and oh so wounded demeanor just telegraph to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that he's guilty as Karla Homolka. I only have myself to blame for jumping into bed with the old drag queen but I desperately needed his pandora key to the frogophone chastity belt.

I knew that the commie ragtag Globe was going to crucify the Irish chinwagger but I didn't think they were going to engulf me in the flames of those 7 month old letters from the Kraut which I swear I never saw.

I blame the lackeys -- you just can't get good ones now days, even in Ottawa which used to be the sycophant capital of the universe. I guess the politically correct term is civil servant -- although frig knows why. They don't say "yes massuh," they can't shine shoes worth shit and they can't tap dance -- hell they have no rhythm at all. And none of them are even civil -- silently sullen to haughtily hostile to rightout rude is the usual range.

I hate to sound like a broken record but it's the Liberals fault. Cretin and Martian slashed the lackey rolls by 40% back in the mid-90s causing morale and recruitment to plummet. All the top lackeys headed for greener pastures leaving us with the dregs of the dross.

You'd think any semi-literate highschool dropout would have a lightbulb go on upstairs when they see a ticking letterbomb addressed to the Prime Minister alleging bribery and malfeasance by one of his party's previous PMs -- "hey maybe I should bring this to someone's attention" would sprint to mind. But apparently not. Today's gormless lackey just files it under 'W' for Whatever and goes on their merry bungling bureaucratic way.

So I'm left holding the flaming bag of dog shit and I have to figure out how to put out the fire without soiling my clothes. Why should the sins of the buffonish father-figures and freakish fatherlanders be visited on their far superior progeny? A bloody eminence gris should behave like an elder statesmen not a cash-crazed clown cavorting with greased pigs and wallowing knee-deep in swinish sleaze. If I had my way they'd have both been pushing up poppies last weekend instead of wearing them.

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Not Stephen Harper

About Me

I am a cat person and an AC/DC fan. My favorite color is camouflage and my personal hero is Friedrich Hyek. I don't trust liberals, socialists or other stupid people. My friends and family call me Commander-in-Chief.